


all that remains

by quantumducky



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Crying, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, basically: s4 finale speculation but i'm unrealistically optimistic about it, does it count as canon divergence if the point it diverges from hasn't happened yet, hand kiss..., hand kisses PLURAL, now also featuring:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-24 00:10:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20898413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumducky/pseuds/quantumducky
Summary: The plan to stop the Extinction didn’t go off quite like Martin had anticipated. For one thing, he hadn’t been expecting himself to still be alive and human at the end of it.Of course, just because he was aliveright now,didn’t mean he was likely to stay that way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> martin deserves better than canon and also, tbh, better than the first seven hundred words of this fic
> 
> if i change my mind on the jo(h)n question every time i write a fic then i never have to actually decide... that's the real meaning of balance

The plan to stop the Extinction didn’t go off quite like Martin had anticipated. For one thing, he hadn’t been expecting himself to still be alive and human at the end of it. Neither had anyone, really, as far as he knew, and yet here he was. Not dead, and  _ certainly _ not any kind of avatar, Beholding and Forsaken alike ripped violently from the core of his being at the climactic moment of the failed emergence. Nothing left but regular, human,  _ very _ deeply traumatised but this wasn’t really the time to be thinking about that, Martin Blackwood. He actually wanted to laugh at how incredibly wrong Peter had been about what would happen here, but in his current state, he couldn’t manage more than a sharp exhale and a brief not-quite-smile.

Of course, just because he was alive  _ right now, _ didn’t mean he was likely to stay that way.

He was alone, fittingly enough, lying where he’d fallen on the cold stone floor of the tunnels. Peter had sensibly left well in advance of the main event and probably still thought he’d turn up  _ changed, _ ready to help him get on with the business of… whatever the hell it was the man normally did with his time, when he wasn’t pretending to run the Magnus Institute and preventing the end of the world. No one else would be able to find him here, if they even knew to try- if they even  _ wanted _ to. So Martin was going to die here.  _ God, _ he wished he could still feel as apathetic about that as he had a few hours earlier. It would have been a kindness, to at least leave him that. The Lonely was not, he supposed, in the business of being kind to those it used and abandoned. Maybe it just wanted to wring a little more suffering out of him, last minute, as months of suppressed emotions and pain crashed into him at once in the absence of its influence.

It was dark down here, in the tunnels, and he could barely tell whether his eyes were open or closed, let alone see anything else. Probably for the best, that. It felt like he’d lost some blood somewhere in the chaos, his clothes stiff and skin made even colder where it was gradually drying, and he didn’t think he wanted to know how much. The tears were almost a comfort when they started, dripping heat down his cheeks even as he gave up on suppressing violent shivers, and then another draft came through the chamber and it felt as though the liquid would freeze on his face. He wished he had the energy to crawl into a corner or something, just to feel marginally less exposed, but he could barely move. That was okay. It wouldn’t matter for much longer. He fought through the pain to hide his face in his arms, then went still- save for the shaking, which he couldn’t exactly help- and waited.

Martin’s consciousness drifted, though not nearly as far from reality as he would have liked. The ambient noise of the tunnels seeped into his half-awake dreams. Water dripping somewhere became footsteps, some unlikely wanderer of the tunnels passing right by without noticing him as his struggle to call out, make  _ any _ sort of noise, proved hopeless. Another draft of chill air was Peter’s disappointed sigh,  _ really Martin, I expected better, thought you were stronger than this, _ and a silent sob forced itself from his throat amid a jumble of whispered apologies and desperate pleas:  _ I know, I’m sorry, I’ll do better, just don’t- _ But he was already gone, and never had been there in the first place, regardless. Some mysterious noise or other decided to turn into the creak of door hinges, which was slightly harder for his mind to reconcile with reality- there weren’t any doors down here, of course. For a moment he imagined himself somewhere else, not the tunnels, somewhere there  _ were _ doors, and that was nice. Just for a moment. The water dripped again, echoing against the uneven walls, and he was nearly able to convince himself the next whisper of wind was another voice.  _ Martin? Martin, are you- are you there? We’re going to get you out of here, alright? You’re going to be okay. _

Jon- of course it would be him Martin’s brain conjured up. He clung to this particular hallucination as well as he could. Maybe if he could just hold onto it strongly enough, convince some part of him it was real, he wouldn’t have to die alone.

_ Oh, shit- Martin! _

A- something warm. On his wrist. Martin struggled to get his eyes open and still couldn’t see what was touching him. His already labored breathing hitched as it moved up to his shoulder, and then there were two points of- of warmth, grasping his upper arms, and he was finally forced to believe they were someone’s hands, and-

“Please, I, I can’t lose you now, not like this, Martin,  _ please,” _ and  _ god, _ that might  _ actually be Jon. _ One of hopefully-Jon’s hands drifted up to the side of his face, and Martin did all he could to show he was still there, fighting to open his eyes again and not quite managing to make a sound. Pitiful as the effort was, it seemed to work.

“Thank you,” Jon breathed, so fervently Martin doubted it was directed at him. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner, Martin, I could have, I- but I’m here now.” His warm hands moved again, and the next thing Martin knew, the whole upper half of his body was cradled against Jon’s chest. A little awkward, given Martin was bigger than him. He would be  _ happy _ to let his last memory be of this.

Jon had sounded  _ really _ upset about the idea of him dying, though. He didn’t want to upset Jon, if he could avoid it- well. Any more than he already had.

“Just hold on,” he was telling him, “just- Helen? Could you- yes, thanks. No, stay calm, it’s okay,” he added in a rush, although Martin wasn’t sure how he was expected to  _ not _ freak out a little when he was suddenly lifted into the air by- well,  _ Helen. _ Although that did explain how Jon got down here. The Distortion was not warm, but Jon kept hold of his hand until they were out of the corridors again and Martin had been set down on something much more comfortable than the floor of the tunnels. So that was alright.

A lot happened, after that, and he couldn’t keep up with any of it- voices and movement and multiple people touching him, that last even more overwhelming than the rest of it when he hadn’t been touched by  _ anyone _ in such a long time. He managed to open his eyes for a second and got a painfully bright, muddled blur he couldn’t even begin to decipher, so he stopped trying, letting himself unfocus until all the activity stopped. When it was over, the lights were dimmed, half his body was wrapped up in gauze, and he was finally able to work out where he was: the same room he’d stayed in during the Corruption’s siege. Jon was still there. Still holding his hand.

“Hi,” he tried to say. He ended up coughing weakly instead, but Jon lit up like he’d announced the answers to all life’s greatest questions.

“You’re awake,” he said rather pointlessly. “That’s- that’s good.” He spent a long, silent moment smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles in the sheets. “…Do you need anything? Water, or, or painkillers, or…”

He trailed off when Martin simply let his eyes close again without trying to answer.

“Right, you… probably need to rest. I’ll lea- that is, I’ll… be quiet now. Try not to bother you.”

Martin’s fingers twitched in an approximation of squeezing his hand. He knew what was unspoken there, in the spaces between carefully chosen words, and gratitude filled his chest until it hurt. He didn’t think he could handle being left alone. Jon squeezed back carefully, whispering a few more words of vague reassurance to him. Martin fell asleep soon after, and maybe he imagined it, or… it just wasn’t what he thought or something. But the last thing he felt, right on the edge of sleep- well, it really  _ felt _ like Jon had just kissed the back of his hand, and however awkward and hesitant the action may have been, it was hard to believe he could have confused it with anything else. It was, he decided, something to be dealt with by some future version of himself, one who had a little more energy and, hopefully, wasn’t in quite so much pain.

_ “Sleep well, Martin.” _

The words echoed in his head, having slipped through just as the space inside emptied of all conscious thought. By some miracle- or unrelated coincidence, more likely, but where was the romance in  _ that- _ he managed to have peaceful dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm probably going to add a second chapter of just. softness and martin getting taken care of. but honestly i'm just feelin impatient today and wanted to post something already and it works fine as it is


	2. Chapter 2

When Martin woke again, the room was mostly dark, and he felt a little less like he was dying. Still awful, of course, weak and feverish, but not _actively_ _dying._ He couldn’t entirely remember, at first, the series of events that had brought him here, and he tried to reach for his phone and check the time and- honestly, with his current level of disorientation, he wasn’t entirely sure he didn’t need to check the _date._ The spike of pain that flooded him as soon as he moved brought his memories back with it. He dropped his arm the inch he’d managed to get it off the cot and hissed quietly, squeezing his eyes shut.

There was a rustle of movement next to him, a whispered curse, and then Jon, checking him over in a slightly panicked way before letting out a breath and settling down. “You’re okay,” he said softly, equal parts reassurance to Martin and reminder to himself. “I mean, there’s no… immediate danger. I’m not sure how much you remember, but…”

Martin nodded and took a slow, deep breath before opening his eyes again. Jon was kneeling beside the cot, his hand laid over Martin’s almost reflexively at this point. Even in the low light, stress and exhaustion were plain in the lines of his face. Had he been sitting there the entire time, just worrying and watching over him?

“What… how long have I… been here?” he finally rasped. Jon hurried to help him sip some water and down some pain pills before answering.

“It’s been, ah…” He pulled his phone out to check, and the glow of the screen illuminated his faintly surprised expression. “Most of the night, apparently. It’s nearly four in the morning.”

“Oh.” Talking was still painful, and he doubted he could handle much more conversation before tiring himself out. It would have been sensible to ask next about his own condition, the wounds he felt sharply and couldn’t see, but… Martin didn’t think he really  _ wanted _ to know right now. He hadn’t woken up in hospital, so it couldn’t be too bad, right? Instead he found himself blurting out, “Have you slept?”

The question seemed to catch Jon off guard. “What? I- I don’t know, I suppose I must have. At… some point.” He shook his head. “It’s not all that important. Is there anything else you need, or- want to ask about, or shall I shut up and let you get back to sleep?” There was a note of self-deprecating humor in his voice, as if he thought he already knew what the answer would be and couldn’t help asking anyway, just in case.

“I…” His voice faltered almost immediately-  _ that, _ somehow, was where it all became too much. He’d spent so long expecting to be  _ dead _ by this point, and now he wasn’t, and he was still feeling so many things at once, and Jon was here and sitting up all night to take care of him and  _ he thought Martin was going to want him to shut up. _ It was probably the guilt that finally did it, he thought distantly just before he broke down crying; that sounded about right.

Jon made a shocked noise in his throat and started forward, hovering uncertainly over the cot. Comforting others never had been one of his strong points even  _ without _ the many complicating factors of this particular situation. He lifted Martin’s hand and pressed it to his own chest, then thought better and tried to sheepishly put it down; Martin, in a moment of thoughtless almost-panic, braced himself for the consequences of moving and grabbed onto the front of his shirt.

“Oh,” Jon said softly, and the emotion in his voice was unclear, but he took his hand again and shifted closer, which was the important thing. “I’m not going anywhere, Martin, I- I’m here.” He brushed the hair away from Martin’s eyes and somewhat awkwardly attempted to dry his tears with the edge of his sleeve. “I just wouldn’t want to… to overstep, if you- I understand it must be a lot, after…”

Martin tilted his head just enough to press his face against Jon’s palm and heard him trail off with a quiet exhale. “You’ve been saying my name a lot,” he mumbled into the silence.

"...I suppose I have." He was still, bent over the cot with one hand cradling Martin's face and the other pressed to his heart, careful not to move for fear of ruining something. "I'm… it's a reminder, I think. That you're here to say it to."

He took a long, shuddering breath, and tried unsuccessfully to blink away the tears that kept coming.  _ He’d almost died. _ A sound escaped him, too small and pathetic to be called anything other than a whimper. But there was Jon, leaning in until the hair he hadn’t been bothering to cut nearly brushed Martin’s forehead and stroking a thumb over his damp cheek as he repeated the few, vague words of comfort he could think of, and so Martin decided his dignity wasn’t actually all that important. Assuming he’d ever had much of any to begin with.

Gradually, he was able to calm himself, although a few stray tears still slipped out, and by that point the strong painkillers he’d been given were starting to kick in. He sighed, feeling even more tired than before and a little fuzzy around the edges, but definitely better. Jon absently tucked a lock of hair behind his ear for him, and he leaned into the touch. It would probably be unreasonable to ask him to stay here, just like this, while Martin went back to sleep. No, he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t  _ want _ that, even, if he were thinking more clearly- Jon needed to sleep, too. Soaking up the contact while it lasted was enough. What would the point be, anyway, once he was asleep and couldn’t even be aware of it?

Martin told himself these things, and nearly managed to fall asleep without saying anything embarrassing or ridiculous. And then he remembered something, and didn’t catch up with his own thoughts in time to stop it coming out.

“Jon, did you…” His words came out slurred, enough that Jon leaned even closer to hear him, and he lost his train of thought slightly. He took a breath and tried again. “Did, uh… earlier.” Another pause, because at this point he was beginning to realize what he was saying, but Jon gave him an encouraging little hum,  _ go on, _ and he found himself saying it anyway. “Did you kiss my hand?”

There was a  _ very _ long moment of silence. Martin was too out of it to be particularly embarrassed, but he did hope he hadn’t made Jon uncomfortable. “S’alright,” he offered, “either way. Just… wondered.”

Jon hesitated a little longer before admitting, “I… may have. I- I thought you were asleep, at the time, and- I’m sorry.”

Martin’s eyes had been steadily closing of their own accord, but he opened them again in order to look properly questioning. “What for?”

“Well- I, I can’t just go around kissing people without asking, can I,” Jon stammered. “It wasn’t… well. It won’t happen again, I… I’m not really sure what I was thinking.”

“Mm.” He nodded slowly in understanding. “Got to ask first, next time.” With all that cleared up, he went back to falling asleep. It took him a few seconds to register the intense look Jon was giving him- unusual, even for him. “…What?”

“I- Martin.” The unsteadiness in his voice woke Martin up a bit more. “Could I? Do it again?”

Martin blinked, slowly processed what he was asking, and felt his face light up. “S-sure,” he managed. “I mean- if you want?”  _ What a stupid thing to say, why would he be asking if he didn’t want to- _

Jon lifted their entwined hands up and, finding himself thwarted slightly by the back of Martin’s hand being covered with his own, carefully turned them over and pressed his lips to the pulse point at the base of his wrist instead. Martin just barely held back a highly embarrassing strangled squeak, but he couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through him. Jon  _ would _ have to misinterpret his reaction completely.

“You’re cold,” he said, not even bothering to make it a question. “I’m sorry, I should have considered…” 

He looked around the room as if hoping for an extra blanket to materialize like one of his tape recorders, an endeavor not made any easier by his refusal to move either of his hands from where they were. It was, if Martin was honest, unfairly endearing, which was the best excuse he had for how he chose to bring the other man’s attention back to him. Turning his head just a little, he returned the favor with a soft kiss to the center of Jon’s palm.

He startled badly and actually  _ did _ squeak, or something close to it. “Martin,” he breathed, somewhere between exasperation and adoration.

Martin just smiled sleepily in response and informed him, “‘M not cold.” He enjoyed the sight of Jon’s flustered face until he physically couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore, which took approximately three seconds.

Jon sighed fondly and adjusted the blanket for him again. “Go back to sleep,” he whispered, “evidently you need it.”

_ So do you, _ he wanted to respond, but it seemed he was suddenly out of energy even for whispering. He settled for thinking about it as hard as he could in Jon’s general direction, because who knew,  _ maybe _ it worked like that. Either way, Jon settled himself more comfortably on the floor and rested his head on his folded arms at the edge of the cot, and that was likely the most concession he would have ended up giving regardless, so Martin couldn’t really complain. With Jon’s warm, solid presence next to him and the knowledge that nothing was  _ actively _ trying to kill either of them for the moment, he smiled and finally drifted back into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> getting this second part in just in time before a new episode comes out tomorrow and probably makes the whole thing officially impossible lmao
> 
> thanks to everyone who's read and commented on this! you're the reason i was motivated enough to get the second chapter done today :)


End file.
